This Is The Marching Band
by Rachelle31
Summary: The beginning of Freshman year as a marcher, and how things went. Any place mentioned is their own.


Band camp. Was this going to be awesome or what? I had waited for forever to do this: to ship off to band camp with friends and be without parents for a week, to live with the rest of Batterie and learn the ropes of marching with a base drum.

The ride to Western Carolina University was breath taking. Albeit it was a little cramped- you pack 5 kids and 5 suitcases into one truck- and we were ready to go when we got there. We all popped out of the truck and went to registration, proudly saying our names to the people behind the tables.

Now it was time to haul the suitcases up 4 staircases, or wait for forever to ride the elevator. I chose stairs. The girl in my room was in Pit- Ella Male. She had actually wanted to be in Pit as a freshman- she thought she could learn the ropes better.

But we unpacked and spent the first night at band camp. Who cares if Batterie all snuck down to the senior commons and ate Rocky Road ice cream until 3 in the morning? Man, it was hard to get up the next day. 6am brought wake up call, quick showers, and butterflies- what if I fall on my face in front of seniors? But everything was fine. Sure, reading drill was a little hard at first, but I got the hang of it faster than the other freshman.

It was like magic, learning drill. You're creating something, something that someone thought would look cool, brilliant, and had sketched it out. Then they wrote all the drill, and thought that we would be the best, the coolest people, to perform it. An hour, if you think about it. All the instructors were nice enough. Sure the freshman got yelled at, but all freshmen did. Maybe it just hit me a little harder because it was only I messing up in their eyes.

But every night was fun. Senior night, the senior pool party, and the talent show that I wish I had been in. Now Genevieve and Jacob and Sam wouldn't get to see me perform. But oh well, life comes with regrets. Those acts were funny- the drum majors doing to Mario Kart Love song- two of them would be really cute together. And the Drum Line Sleepover-, which would never happen, our parents would never let _Batterie_ have a sleepover, so many bad things could happen…

The end of the week came- a few seniors cried, it was their last band camp. But they gave kind words to freshman, kind words I never really believed. Sure, you love us, even though you yell at us. Sure, we totally adore you too and know that you have the best intentions for us. _Not_. You could care less, and if you did care, you'd praise _everyone_ when they did something really good, not just the ones you like. And, you know, we might actually care more than you do, even though you lecture us about giving two cents.

And now it was time to perform- we only learned about half the show, it was too big to learn in just one week. But we learned it eventually, through hours spent in the blistering, Georgia sun, through blood and sweat and tears, through performances at football games and at competions, having only rehearsed it once at the first competion.

Now, the second competion was upon us, time for the seniors to give speeches. The officers rushed the people they didn't like and used all the time for them. As I listened to their rehearsed speeches, I didn't believe a word. You don't really love us, you don't really care that much. You got the position because you were the band director's favorites, not because you really deserved the position. So I gave a few hugs, and then went off by myself after hugging the few friends I had in the section. And I stood in the midst of a huge crowd, all in black and gold and maroon. You'd think a friend would notice right away. No, it took them awhile. And in that time, I learned what it's like to be truly alone. To stand in a group- 250 people, all supposed to be family, and have no one to talk to. To feel abandoned and invisible, especially when the drum majors look at you, and then turn a blind eye. Sure, they're totally great, if they're your friends, and they're not mine. And tears cloud your vision, because you realize how horrible and miserable this is.

And then you become determined. Determined that you won't crack for them, that they won't break you. And one day you'll be happy and successful, and will be able to look back and say, "That was then, this is now". The determination stays as you march in the arena so far from home, and as you're called to attention, tears fill your eyes, but this time, with pride. _This is why I joined band._ You think. Because even though it really sucks sometimes, that you usually get stabbed in the back and left with glares, alone in the corner, this one moment is wonderful. It's when you unite as one to create an amazing show. This is the marching band.


End file.
